To Strike the Storm's Eye – A Skyrim Story
by BurningCard
Summary: The land of Skyrim is unkind and unwelcome. The Stormcloaks threaten the land. The return of beasts that were once of legend only make the hopes of the common man weaken. Two people unite under a strong passion for each other. As Chago seeks the way of the beastfolk, and as Ma'ri abandons the ways of her kind, they will both strike back against the hell Skyrim left them to face.
1. 1 - Innocence of a Child's Eye

***Month: Evening Star – 13 – 4E 190**

The Gods of the land must have seen a sin so great to throw unforgiving storms towards a lone child. The boy's cries were but whispers against the blistering intensity of the otherworldly winds. What would once be considered gentle and calm, the snow pelted against the child's face as he trudged on, wrapped all over with scavenged rags and torn man-wear. He couldn't will himself to look forward. Even as his thoughts were interrupted, broken and disjointed by the echoes of the blizzard freezing his head, one thought continued to break through; _I must move forward. I need to move forward._

If a higher power truly did exist, then they either saw contempt in the young being or indifference, completely turning a blind eye to the boy's suffering. The cold stiffened his inner core as he walked. His feet, covered with leather and scavenged wool-remains, were becoming much denser and weakened when it came to the horrid weather around him. Despite this, not a single thought demanded the dying body to turn back. He didn't want to turn back. He didn't know what was back there.

His mind was blank, but it something he had done on his own accord. He had to leave the old world behind him. There was nothing left for him there. But he was an innocent, new mind. Normally Bretons such as himself would know better, but the half-man half-mer decided against the logic present in his mind. Even back at home, nothing was safe. He had seen the horrid ways of the world, and he wanted to get away from it all. More than anything, he wanted to start anew and find a new way of life, hoping to find a land where he could be safe and have comfort.

But such a mindset was futile and naïve, for there is nothing truly safe in the realm of Skyrim.

The cold… the bitter, relentless cold; to the child, it was quickly becoming hell on Nirn. He believed he knew much, but his frail, innocent mind had never heard of the world outside of Skyrim, outside of Tamriel, and beyond the beyond. It was a mistake for him to believe he could understand the world, but the ones who raised him to this point were truly reluctant to show this child what the world truly can be. Here he was, fighting against a storm that would make an army rush back home. Something kept him going. The voices in his head kept urging him forward. But they weren't his voices; he was truly hearing something nearby.

A wave of relief smacked him. He finally felt free from his torment, but it was a kind of sanctuary that destroys one will to continue. Upon seeing the potential of safety, his body buckled, believing that this was enough. The mind of the young child began to vanish. His hopeful grit left him as he fell face-first into the snow. He groaned as his body gave in, surrendering to the world around him. He was wrong to keep fighting this long. He shouldn't have gone on this far. He knew he had made a grave mistake, but it was too late for him now. He wanted to weep, but he was too tired to do so. The child wanted nothing more than the cold to just vanish. The life within him was receding. There was no will to crawl. All he could hear was snow crunching around him. His mind went for the worst situation. There was no hope for him now; to feel this way was something foreign to him, but he finally understood it. When he saw the ones he cared about getting taken away from him, he remembered their faces. Even though he couldn't see himself, he felt it; he was making the same face as them.

The sound of crunching snow grew closer to him. The Breton child could feel his long, unkempt hair freezing his scalp, piercing into his head. It was numbing him to the pains of the world. He was ready; he accepted what was to come. Before everything else, he was finally happy that he grew closer to a state of rest.

Something wrapped around him. He didn't have the strength to protest against the odd being. The child's eyes still looked blankly at the ground as a furred man hoisted him upward, carrying the boy like a lone infant. Whoever this man was, he was holding the Breton child tightly. The half-breed was confused by the man's actions, as well as his presence. How could he have known? As the child wearily opened his eyes he saw, amongst the heavy mist of snow, a triad of fortified, moveable dwellings. They were more than just a small collection of tents; these dwellings were held together with a strong framework, yet could be moved with ease. The child eyed the wheels of each of the puny settlements. Wagons of sorts, but fashioned with certain pieces that would aid in giving the creatures pulling them with some form of warmth and cover. Whether it did enough was yet to be seen, but the beings appeared to be content with what they had.

It was then that the young child saw a smaller being ahead. The man holding him grinned warmly, seemingly melting away the cold air around them. Both the adult and the child saw the young, feline-like being. She eagerly waved her arms before rushing back into the safety of the fortified wagon. It was not long before the adult did the same, bringing the lone child in with him. Could there be a feeling any more welcoming than this? From the harshest colds, the child was brought into a small residence that yielded a warmth that blanketed him upon entering. Even so, he remained curled up within the man's arms. Weakly, the child saw that of a feline's face. The Breton froze, taking in what he was seeing. As he looked into the intense, green eyes of the man who saved him, he saw the face of an aged Khajiit. The black fur covering his face almost dangled off the sides of his cheeks. There was some discoloring, showing the Khajiit's reputable age. The child turned to face the other young one, recognizing her as a Khajiit as well. Her fur was that of a golden brown color, with a much brighter coloration around the inhaling regions of her innocent, worried face. There was a trace of black hair near the back edge of her scalp. It yielded a color of an estranged dark, crimson brown. The young Khajiit's green eyes eagerly reached out, but the adult in this small residence hastily pulled the Breton back. "Do not touch. This Breton is too exhausted for play." The young Khajiit drooped her ears before wearily looking away. Her tail sagged, defeated when she realized how futile any attempt at pouting would be. The adult carefully placed the Breton child next to him with a fresh assortment of garments. "Ma'ro welcomes you into his care. Ma'ro is lucky to have a daughter with an eye for treasure," he smiled. The Breton was familiar with how the Khajiit spoke, so he was able to recognize, despite his weakened state, that his savior was Ma'ro, the Khajiit. When Ma'ro looked over to his daughter, he couldn't help but smile when he saw the young girl scratch nervously near her cheek. Was she embarrassed? She further looked away when the Breton child looked over to her. "This bitter cold is unforgiving, yet it pains Ma'ro to know that a child was a victim. Ma'ro wants you to change." He placed the fresher clothes at the feet at the curled, tense Breton. "This Breton looks no older than my daughter. It would be horrible for any adult to send their child out in this storm. How many years have your eyes seen?"

The Breton child was still reluctant to speak. Even though he was in a place that one could describe as a sanctuary, his exhaustion was getting the best of him. Wearily, the child raised his fingers, one at a time, and the adult Khajiit counted along, reaching the number eleven. Ma'ri gasped back. "He must be fooling Ma'ri!" She exclaimed. "Only a year older than Ma'ri!"

Ma'ro saw the exhaustion on the child's eyes. Asking too many questions, at that moment, would bring poor results. The boy needed to rest, that was what Ma'ro realized. "For now, Ma'ro hopes for you to recover. Maybe then Ma'ro can take you back home, wherever the home may be." He was instantly greeted with a morose shaking of the head. "… No home?" The Breton weakly looked away, ignoring the words of Ma'ro. They were too true. He couldn't bring himself to even hear the sudden movement around him.

The girl spoke back to the Breton boy. "Can Breton be Ma'ri's friend?"

Ma'ro sighed before leaning back, staring up at the roof of his settlement. There was no hope of returning this child. Where could he even think to return the child? The adult thought to himself for a few moments, playing with the new idea. Ideas of payment came to mind; he and his daughter had rescued this young child from death. It shouldn't matter that the child was young; he could serve Ma'ro well, raising him to be a decent young man. There wasn't a moment where he thought about the consequences of inviting a Breton child into the caravan; at least, not until he looked over at the Breton one additional time. The mark his daughter left could make things difficult, but this child was on his own, willing to trudge into the unforgiving land after what was taken from him. Doubt began to cave into his mind until he finally reached a bit of a conclusion. His eyes grew tense as he stared back at the Breton child. "If Breton wishes to be with Ma'ro, then Breton must be _like_ Ma'ro," the adult Khajiit snarled. The daughter instinctively scowled back, but soon felt compelled to listen more once she saw the Breton's unmoving eyes. Ma'ro knew the Breton child understood loyalty greatly. In the child's eyes was the will to repay. "Breton must be one with the Khajiit. Ma'ro shall give you the name of the Khajiit. The life of the Breton child is renewed here; any name other than the one Ma'ro declares shall be forgotten. Does Breton understand?" Despite the oddity of how the Khajiit spoke, just like normal Khajiits, the child nodded back. Ma'ro smiled, appreciating the child's sense of loyalty. "As a Breton, and as one of us, a name of my great uncle shall be given. Chago, Ma'ro expects repayment."

The Breton boy understood it well. Ma'ro did more than just save him, but he welcomed him in his caravan. Like the others, he would have to pull his own weight. 

* * *

The weight of exhaustion made it easy for the boy to go to sleep. Surrounded by a new family, he felt at ease. His weary body nestled against the soft clothes laid out to him prior. The hardest part of the day's journey was over. However, his thoughts raced within his state of sleep. A nightmare, no, there was a terrible event happening, but he couldn't recognize it as such. Before him were beings of tremendous power, towering above any sort of men and mer, or any sort of beast folk. Such creatures existed only in legend. Scorched landscapes ravaged the environment around him as he heard a dreadful cry echo across the lands. The mythical beasts flew overhead, leaving chaos in their wake. Before the eyes of the Breton-child were men clothed and covered with thick cloaks. A storm followed close behind them as they approached, staring back with unforgiving eyes. Their skin was an inhumanly white color, like that of the undead. However, the child could see that they were truly alive. They eyed him, smiling with malicious intent.

The child could only look back with a fearful awe, dumbstruck at the things taking place before him. The mythical creatures became shrouded with a mysterious and ominous hatred, coated with formless signs of life. As the wearers of cloaks approached, leading a storm behind them, the Breton's eyes watered. Weakly, he fell behind him, watching as a man stared down with one eye, looking deep into the child's innocent soul.

That was when the child felt a strong tap on his shoulder. Chago… that was his name now. He heard it expressed to him by someone with a young girl's voice. The raspy nature of the Khajiit's tone felt more unfamiliar to Chago the more he listened to it. The Breton child was disturbed, but somehow now screaming. His body tensed up as he rocked back at forth, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Chago? Chago?" The voice called out to him. He felt two hands grasp onto his shoulders before he was urgently brought in front of the worried child. The two children, divided by fate, were face to face. "… Ma'ri is sorry. The silly Khajiit couldn't get any sleep." She looked at Chago's tense arms, seeing the silent fear stricken into his mind. "Chago, look at this!" She excitedly whispered. As she quickly crawled over to one side of the wagon, Chago looked over to his left. He could see Ma'ro, soundly asleep with every exhale being met with an audible purr.

It had come to Chago's attention that he hadn't exactly spoken yet. Overwhelmed with the new events transpiring before him, he had forgotten to speak. Such a silent child ever since birth, yet he appeared reluctant to speak to strangers even though he was rescued. As Ma'ri continued to rummage through her large, cloth sack, Chago sighed to himself. "Look, I-"

"Here! Look!" The young khajiit hastily showed the young Breton an interesting contraption. It was some sort of child's toy, but it was one Chago was unfamiliar with. He looked at it with observant eyes, breaking down each key detail of the object with skeptical eyes. It was mostly a stick, but at the tip of it was a stone tied to it. The stone, however, was the size of an infant's fist with a hole shaped in the middle, probably ground from a carving stone of sorts. Attached to it was a piece of string, holding a pebble at the end with a few weak knots. "Here's something Ma'ro made for Ma'ri. Ma'ri normally plays with herself, but Chago is here now!" Eagerly, she reached over and manipulated the Breton's hands. Bewildered by the sudden action, he found himself frozen and easily controlled. She fiddled with the boy's fingers until he securely held the handle of the odd toy. "Flick the stick. Get the pebble in the cup as much as you can." It was a simple thing to understand. Chago looked at the energy in the young Khajiit's eyes. Her eyes shook with impatience. It didn't help that Chago took some time to get used to the weight of the object. The pebble dangled at the end of the string, slowly motioning back and forth as momentum smoothly carried it. There was a feeling of understanding as he finally flicked the toy, allowing the pebble to soar upward. He whiffed, with the pebble missing the opening. The small piece of stone fell to the side, sagging in defeat.

Chago gasped. "What the?"

He would try again and again, growing frustrated with the inconsistent contraption. Chago gritted his teeth tighter with each additional attempt; it just wasn't making sense to him. Sometimes he flicked it too lightly, and sometimes too hard. The pebble would either loop over or it wouldn't even reach the cup. He was soon greeted by the Khajiit's soft laughter. It was difficult for her to conceal it. Chago's face of disappointment only made it harder for her to contain the monsoon of new emotions. She hastily took the toy from Chago's hand, confusing the boy at first. Fortunately, the young Khajiit looked back with a kind smile as her tail wagged. "Ma'ri will show Chago how to do it." She positioned the stick and pebble, holding it in her hands. "None of the grownups want to play with Ma'ri, so Ma'ri shall teach Chago if Chago agrees to keep playing…." There was another word at the end of her feline lips. For a moment, Chago thought that Ma'ri was about to say 'please.' Chago nodded back, bringing life to Ma'ri's optimism. "Alright, watch this! Ma'ri calls this the _big_ flick!"

Suddenly, there was a sudden jerk with her furred hand. The flick made the string become stretched to a certain point that the weak knot became undone. By the time the children understood what was happening, the small stone had already been released from its pitiful knot, soaring towards the slumbering father. A wave of intense fear shook through the children. They grasped onto each other as they braced themselves for the worst. The stone was racing through the air with great speed until it made contact, hitting his arm. Fortunately, Ma'ro's arm was coated with a thick sleeve, gifted from the garments he wore.

A collected sigh left the two of them before they looked at each other. Their arms sagged to their sides as they began to hear the sounds of the snoring Khajiit. The two of them couldn't stop looking at each other, too bewildered to look away and possibly see the father grabbing one of them as punishment for disturbing his rest. Such a fear shook the both of them. It was too familiar. As they watched the Khajiit continue to rest, snoring as if the world was at it should, the two children giggled to themselves. They were more than happy about avoiding trouble for now.

But they weren't truly in the clear. The Khajiit was awoken by the rogue pebble, but the next thing he heard was their laughter. Not just 'their' laughter, but his daughter's laughter. It was a sound too pleasant for him to interrupt and destroy. He didn't want her daughter to be without that feeling. His eyes remained closed as he sighed to himself, content at the fact that his daughter had finally made a friend.


	2. 2 - The Horrid Charity

***Month: Sun's Height – 16 – 4E 195**

Even at the warmest of times, the realm of Skyrim maintained an intense chill. A maiden's breath appeared to breathe slowly across the lands, being much more welcoming and forgiving than what Skyrim's horrible weather allowed. That was the only sense of true, natural warmth that could be found besides that of the singular, burning star from above. It shined down, lighting the day, but it was not going to be that way for long. After settling a few miles within the slightly northern regions of Whiteshore, where they had spent a few hours selling some of their wares to the willing inhabitants of a nearby village, the caravan began to pack up, organizing their belongings before setting off again.

Ma'ro stood at the foot of his wagon, ensuring the livelihood of the beasts that hauled it as he observed them closely. He had figured that one of them was slowing down a bit too much and was, at the very least, concerned with the health of both his horses. Regardless of his concern, both of the equines appeared to be in good health. He scowled, but it was one out of concern and also impatience. "Ma'ro will keep an eye on you," he muttered to himself. "The Khajiit need you both to be good, especially where Ma'ro and the others plan to go."

The black Khajiit turned his attention to the rest of the wagon, finding himself impressed with his assistant's hasty yet organized nature. The supplies had been assembled and stored properly, the feed for the horses was kept separate from Khajiit's food, as Ma'ro seemed to prefer due to the poor smell of the feed, and he saw that the weapons and armor had been placed securely within the confines of the wagon. The supplies were organized well; the duties of Chago were already accomplished, which he could already tell from the fact that Chago was already gone. When a smile crept up on his weary face, he overheard shouts from one of his brethren. He was one of the many that turned to see some men and elves standing tall, essentially towering over the poor merchant. One of the mer seemed to flaunt in front of the fallen Khajiit. The darker skin tone, the partially deranged face, and the angled ears, paired with the darker eyes, showed the Khajiit all that they needed to see. It was one of the Dunmer, one of the "Dark Elves." The Elf stood proudly beside the pale man, yet he didn't appear to be a Nord. The skin tone was not nearly as bright as any Nordish man Ma'ro had seen. The dark hair, paired with the man's dignified stature, was enough for Ma'ro to identify the man as a member of the Imperial men. He spoke confidently as the dark elf fiddled with a small dagger. Ma'ro recognized it as one of his caravan's wares. The Imperial chuckled as he brushed the merchant before him to his feet, dominating him without as much as a fight. "Pricing me _that_ much for an iron dagger? Are you mad, you feeble feline?"

The dark elf chuckled back, fueled by his companion's charisma. "We're traders too, and we overheard from our town that you're trying to pass your scrap as better wares? The people in town have been fooled by Khajiit, as expected."

The Khajiit merchant struggled back to his feet, gripping at his cloak. Ma'ro and a few of the others rushed to the merchant's side. Seeing the pack, the man and elf rushed off, taking the dagger with them. Ma'ro grasped the merchant's hand, hoisting him to his feet. "Brother Ta'lo, can you stand?"

"This khajiit can still do more than just stand," the merchant groaned. He ignored the fatigue nagging at him as he watched the two creatures rush off, making way with his dagger. "Do not fret, Ma'ro; this Khajiit has been through worse when it comes to the wretched men and elves." As soon as he got back to his feet, he brushed away Ma'ro's hand. The father stared at the merchant, bewildered at the betrayal. "The Khajiit here have protected that boy for five years. It's only a matter of time before that _boy_ becomes the same. Ta'lo can manage rowdy men from afar, but this Khajiit would never continue to dare and share the same abode with their kind." The merchant went back to tending to his wares, organizing them while checking to see if the two wretched creatures made off with anything else. As the small crowd dispersed, Ma'ro became alone, returning to his wagon with his head hung low. He bit his lower lip, trying to ignore the other voices in his head. Such an incident was only one of many, with men and mer alike taking advantage of his kind. It was straining him, and it was a strain for the others to keep mind of a Breton among their group. Ma'ro didn't want to burden the others any longer, but he didn't want to leave the child that brought happiness back into his daughter's life.

But, as leader of the caravan, he knew that he had to make the best choice. If the others were cautious of the Breton, it would only be a matter of time before they become wary of Chago's very presence and leave the caravan for another. That is why he _had to do it_. He had heard one of the caravan's scouts return with a few other Khajiit. He saw the darkened robes, still iced with some of the frosty air of the north. Ma'ro and the head of the scouts nodded to each other, starting the conversation. Ma'ro was pleased to see that his comrades had returned unscathed. "… Is it done?"

"It is. _They_ are intrigued by what Ma'ro has informed my friends and Elto to tell," the head of the scouts returned. Elto pressed against his chest before shaking his head hastily for a quick moment. The cold of the far north had gone deep into his fur, piercing through areas of his skin. The grey khajiit sighed as he saw Ma'ro's face weaken. "Ma'ro wasn't wrong," Elto returned. "Ma'ro and Elto, all the Khajiit, know it's best for Chago. The college appreciates the boy; they need more Bretons amongst them."

"The boy's been doing so well," Ma'ro returned with a long sigh. "Does it have to happen?"

Elto cleared his throat. "This Khajiit believes so. Elto and the Khajiit know that a Breton cannot truly exist beside the Khajiit." Elto looked beyond the two of them, watching as the rest of the caravan looked towards the two. They all knew the plan. They may have not truly cared, maybe some did, but they all shared the belief about how unnatural it was. "This Khajiit also believes your daughter has marked him."

Ma'ro faltered, soon baring his teeth. "So _this_ is what it's about," the man scowled. The scout leader winced, realizing his error. He had gone beyond what was supposed to be said. "Ma'ro has told you once, and this Khajiit has told you numerous times, Ma'ro's daughter has not marked the boy!"

"This Khajiit has seen it, as well as the others," Elto returned. "Answer this Khajiit this; where has Chago gone?"

"Chago has…." Ma'ro diverted his green eyes, avoiding eye contact. "… Chago has gone to play with Ma'ri, after completing his duties half prior."

"Ah, so you let the boy with your daughter. This Khajiit pities you!" Elto exclaimed. "It is because of such play that she could mark him! This Khajiit shall show you!" 

* * *

The towering trees made viewing from afar incredibly difficult. As the sun was coming down, the Breton knew that it was time to return to the caravan. Thickly robed, the young man traversed the area in search of his beloved friend. However, with each boulder he'd peer by, with each tree he'd climb and survey, Ma'ri was nowhere to be seen. He was getting worried; now wasn't the time to play with her father's patience. "Ma'ri? Where are you?" He called out, listening as his words went unanswered. His voice appeared to be snatched away by the towering pines surrounding him. "Ma'ri? Ma'ri! We need to head back!" His concern strained the back of his throat as he called out to her. "Ma'ri! Ma'ri!"

He instantly heard the sounds of brushing leaves. Before he could turn around he felt something slam against the left side of his body. The Breton was sent to the ground as a strong mass subdued him, restricting any further movement. Chago finally managed to take in what had just occurred; someone had pounced onto him, sending him to the ground in one fell swoop. At this point, he was used to seeing his companion on top of him, staring back with jade eyes. The khajiit daughter had grown as well, yet still retained the mind like that of a child. She playfully smiled before nudging her head along her Breton's cheeks. Chago laughed back at her displays of affection, pressing her back as she relentlessly continued to show her care. "Come on, Ma'ri," the Breton jokingly protested. The two of them giggled to each other, taking in their time alone. Their duties were taken care of for the day, leaving them some time to be by themselves, something they always cherished. Especially, while around the others, each of the Khajiit would stare back with a cautious pair of eyes. "We need to go home; it's getting dark."

"Ma'ri wants- … I want to see it," the Khajiit returned. Chago was surprised, but such an act was not something completely new to him. There were multiple times where his companion tried to resist the tongue of her brethren. She had watched and listened to Chago for far too long; the quiet Breton, indirectly, made her gain a new tongue. "Can I see you do your flash? Your flash! Please!" She innocently begged him. Chago made it appear that he agreed out of reluctance, but he couldn't help but hide a strong smile as he nodded. "Yes! Show Ma'r- me! Show me!" She quickly got off of her friend's torso, allowing him to stand himself up. The white cloak she wore was tattered with leaves and dirt. The Breton couldn't help but sigh with a giggle fighting its way out of him. The fact that the young Khajiit was still unable to keep track of the cleanliness of her clothes became humorous to Chago. What the Breton particularly liked was how much the Khajiit appreciated the young man's talent. It was like he was watching an extraordinary event taking place right before her green eyes. She had her hands clasped together, eagerly tapping her tail against the small boulder she sat on. Her ears flicked with excitement as the Breton posed himself with his arms out. He opened his hands. In an instant, spheres of curling, toiling flames took form! Even after a few months of doing such an incredible act, the feeling of such warm magicka tingled the very tips of his fingers. He stared at his open hands, watching the flames dance in front of his palms.

He heard his companion clap happily, bringing a wide smile on the Breton's face. Unfortunately, he had to cut the show short. The last thing he wished to do was let his abilities wreck his surroundings, especially while in a condensed forest. Even though he greatly appreciated the applause, he extinguished the flames, gasping as he felt his adrenaline drop. Using magicka was still new to him, and using it to cast spells such as the flames he created was draining his body. He overheard the Khajiit whining before he glanced over at her, watching as the feline humanoid drooped her ears. He hated seeing her like this. He groaned, but an idea soon popped into his head. "Do you want an encore?" The Khajiit's ears perked up. "I'll do it some more once we get back to the caravan."

"Actually… Ma'ri wants-…. _I_ want to stay here longer anyways," The Khajiit stepped off of the boulder, yet she proceeded to sit herself down at the foot of it. As she leaned her back against it, her head looked upward, gazing at the treetops of the towering greenery around them. "They'll just get angry at us again."

"Not _you_ , just me," Chago returned with an anxious shrug.

"Then it's both you and me."

The conviction in the Khajiit's words shook the Breton. He didn't expect for the innocent, child-like Khajiit to express herself in such a darkened tone. She was still only one year younger than him, that will never change, yet he grew up with her maintaining a sense of innocent wonder that was youth. For her to express herself in a different way, even if it was for only a moment, was something that pulled on Chago's soul. He could see the sadness in her eyes as she refused to look back at him. As his heart sagged, he sighed, soon approaching the Khajiit before sitting himself next to her. With his back against the boulder, he looked over to Ma'ri, hoping that she would look back. "You don't have to worry about me, you know."

"… Those Khajiit think they own me," Ma'ri uttered coldly. "Ma'r- I, I never once heard any of the others wish to play with Ma'r- me. Not once. Only you did. Only you still do." She dug her head into her right palm, staring lifelessly towards the soil beneath her. "… _I_ worry, Chago. The last thing this Khajiit-…. _Tch_!" She scowled at herself. The Khajiit was forcing herself to abandon her tongue. Over the years, this was still proving to be something difficult.

The Breton hardly saw any point to this anymore. He could see just how much she strained to separate herself from the caravan. "You shouldn't be ditching your tongue anyways," Chago sighed. "I appreciate it, but the last thing I want is for them to think I'm changing you."

"What if I want that?" Ma'ri stated solemnly. The dark tone of her voice worried the Breton. The two of them were stuck looking at each other, hoping that the other would truly _get_ the other. Each of them had their own desires, but they conflicted. The last thing Chago wanted was for Ma'ri to keep herself away from her own kind. However, as Ma'ri spat within the same utterance of her species' name, Chago knew which side she stood. "The Khajiit … enough of them! If they don't see you as one of them, then I don't want any part of it."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want to be with… you," the Khajiit returned, whimpering softly as she struggled to speak. "You're special to me. You're my special friend." She turned away, pulling her legs close as she arched her back. She was reduced to a fetal ball, weakly looking down as the soft, welcoming breeze became foreign to her. Her tail lacked any sign of life. The Khajiit's faded green eyes became iridescent. Ma'ri's eyes trembled, giving in to the sudden fit of sadness before letting her eyes reveal her tears. Just when the tears began to drip off of Ma'ri's cheeks, she felt something touch the very under part of her chin. Her body loosened upon feeling the familiar, relaxing sensation. She felt the Breton's fingers dig into her fur, soothingly scratch at a spot that felt perfectly right to her. Her eyes widened. She turned to see the man she had fallen for. She didn't know if the man truly felt the same; all she knew was that he was willing to be there for her, and that was close enough.

She brought herself towards Chago, pressing her forehead against the Breton's. The young man gasped before realizing Ma'ri's actions. He relaxed, hearing his special friend purr ever so softly. The vibrations from her head made his skin tingle, feeling the connection they shared despite fate's divide. Chago felt Ma'ri pull herself away. She then motioned forward, taking a soft nip and the boy's shoulder. The Breton was used to the Khajiit's friendly nips. She had told him that she was just a nibbler or a sort of playful biter. Because of the beastfolk's bestial nature, Chago didn't care to be skeptical of her. Why would he dare to?

He almost didn't want to return to the others. They would all look at him and Ma'ri weird if they saw them chasing each other, fiddling with the wilds in multitudes of ways, or just doing _this_ ; just sitting, residing beside each other as everything else just took its course around them. They didn't care that Skyrim was an unforgiving place. When they were able to spend time together, Skyrim became beneath them. They were already somewhere else.

It was because of such emotional ties that everything seemed to shift oddly, almost out of nowhere. Blackness came before the two of them, but they were too focused on their own actions to pay mind. Something came for them, reducing their sight to that of darkness. 

* * *

Chago felt his head grow heavy as he came too. Somberly, the young man looked around, feeling his surroundings. His mind struggled to make sense of the situation; he didn't remember returning to the wagon. Everything felt fuzzy to him; his vision felt compromised, his arms and legs were bound, tied with something that dug into his skin with each attempt to break free. The rope was too high on his arms. He couldn't have the flames reach them even if he had the will to try. He didn't want to burn where he was forced to reside; he could feel the wooden surface against his face as he remained face down.

As he heard footsteps, he began to replay the little bits of information he could remember. The colder, harsher air made it difficult for him to remember the much more welcoming, warmer feeling and sensations that the forest provided. Within the confines of his blurred, fuzzy memories, he remembered feeling Ma'ri's fur press against his left cheek. No. Was it his right? He shook his head; he shouldn't be worrying about such minor details. But then, he realized it wasn't so minor. Because Ma'ri was nudging her head against Chago's right cheek, Chago was able to see a glimpse of a furred creature emerging from the shadows. There. That was it. The creature was a fine grey color. Elto? Why was he there? And another creature, coated with black fur and wearing the garb of the caravan…. Ma'ro? Chago remembered Ma'ri getting up, springing into action as the two of them were subdued. Compared to the experienced adults, they were still children, albeit Chago and Ma'ri being sixteen and fifteen respectively.

"Why … why do I remember seeing them?" He didn't desire to see that memory as the truth. However, he struggled to do so. His spirit cracked as he felt two sets of furred hands grasp him, hauling him out into the cold. Chago knew that struggling was futile. Instead, he called out to the people, hoping to plead. He gave in to the memory, deciding to take it as truth. "Elto! Ma'ro! Anyone?! What's going on?!" His words were muffled, barely audible. The beings carrying him paid no mind. They appeared to be within their own minds, complaining about the harsh colds. Chago continued to cry out, but no one bothered to listen to him. It wasn't long until he found himself set down.

The Breton heard Elto's voice. "This Khajiit is sorry for the… compromised positioning of your new student," he began. New student? Elto wasn't making any sense! Chago attempted to squirm, soon feeling the hands of several Khajiit pressing him down. "As you can see, he's… not exactly willing to be separated."

An older, weakening voice had soon emerged. He sounded like speaking was a strain to him, finding it difficult to speak. Despite this, the voice commanded absolute authority. "Release him from his binds, or at least return the poor boy's sight!" Just as Chago began to hear the scuffling of boots against the snow, he felt the light return to him. A small sack had been torn off of the Breton's head, greeting the young man to an entirely new location. Instantly, Chago was overwhelmed. The Khajiit didn't have time to unbind his arms and legs when the Breton fell to his knees. Eyes fixated on the clouds, the gorge ahead, the bridge that stretched into forever. His eyes took everything in. In the distance, across the abyss, stood a stone fortress of a settlement. Chago tried, but he couldn't see everything as what they were. The snowstorm clouded his vision. What broke him out of his stunned stupor was a cough from an old man. With whitened hair, or what remained of it, the heavily-robed individual was surrounded with many others, varying of race and age. However, only the old man wished to speak. His race was unclear; was he a Nord? Imperial? Chago couldn't tell. The old man certainly wasn't a Redguard, for his skin lacked true color. A Breton, perhaps? No. Not a Breton. Whatever this man was, he wasn't a Breton. It was like this old man was an amalgamate of three of the aforementioned races; his heritage was clouded and mystifying, adding to the authority that Chago saw in him. "I apologize for the rash actions of your caravan, but their own words speak that you yourself are unwilling to be a… a…." The old man stalled for a moment. "… A scholar to the College of Winterhold."

"What is this place?" Chago scowled back. "Where's Ma'ri?" The Breton wasn't given an answer. His anger spiked. "Where is Ma'ri?!"

It was like his voice was a call, shrieking for his comrades to assemble. One appeared, but it was one that Chago needed. Upon the utterance of his call, he heard noises behind him. The group turned around, hearing the sounds of brawl within the confines of one of the roofed wagons. Ma'ro's voice was calling out, begging for something to cease! "No! Stop! Just accept this!" No. _She_ wouldn't let it. A humanoid feline, clad with golden-brown fur, leaped from the wagon. Armed and ready, she stared down the group of Khajiit holding her special friend. She scowled to the group, leaving the Khajiit to realize the unfortunate reality of the situation; Ma'ro was so sensitive that he just couldn't bear to leave his daughter bound. Elto audibly sighed as Ma'ro left the wagon, exposing his black, darkened fur to the world. "Ma'ri, listen to this Khajiit! You must not fight for Chago!"

She wasn't bound. Her sight was clear. The Khajiit couldn't let her through; their will to separate the children was focused. Ma'ro and Elto looked to each other, soon leaving the former to grasp Chago by his shoulder. The gray Khajiit pulled down the collar of Chago's robe, revealing some of Ma'ri's nibbles. Additional ones were shown. Some were deeper, but were from a long time ago. Chago gasped, pulling back as he eyed the scars with confusion. He never imagined that they were important until Elto cried out these words: "You mark a Breton?! Ma'ri, your stunts for Chago will break the caravan!"

Ma'ri growled back. Her voice echoed across the abyss. Individuals from surrounding houses peered out, watching the spectacle. "He's mine! You can't take him from me!"

Chago was speechless. He couldn't understand what was going on. Marking? Yes, the nibbles left marks, but so what? Why would that break the caravan? His innocent mind was far from understanding, but before he was a new pair of eyes in the eye sockets of his Khajiit companion. Ma'ri was no longer the innocent, naïve special friend that he had witnessed over the past five years. As he watched Ma'ri, clad in leather armor with a curved sword in her right hand, he saw the eyes of a warrior. The eyes showed no signs of lost focus. She stared ahead, watching as the pack of Khajiit slowly came in.

The professors turned to the old man. An elderly woman spoke up. "Should we intervene?"

The eldest man shook his head. "No. This is a matter of the beastfolk. It's like that grey one said; a Khajiit and a Breton should not remain together. It's a matter for _them_ to resolve, not us."

Chago gritted his teeth. He couldn't bear to watch what would unfold. Ma'ri held her ground. But, as the other Khajit motioned towards her, the Breton soon realized just how hopeless this was. He only barely managed to glance at Ma'ro. The man had darkness over his eyes. He refused to look on. He too couldn't bear to see this take place. The last thing he wanted was for the caravan to be divided. That is why he had no choice but to let the others reprimand his only child. Chago wanted out. "Please, help her!" He pleaded at the feet of the professors. "Why am I even here?! Forget me; just help her!"

The elderly man returned a long, winded sigh. "Ma'ro told us about you," he began with a low groan. "A Breton of your age already using fire and healing magic… It's certainly something I'd like to see grow and prosper. I believe that gray Khajiit said it best when he met with me last. He said 'The child is good in the eyes of this Khajiit. Elto not only wishes for Chago to go, but this Khajiit wishes for him to truly live. Make the boy great.' That was what he told me."

"… No…"

"Of course, you'll be earning your stay here as you learn more about your talents. However… if you wish to help your friend, now is the time." Chago felt a strong draft come from behind him. Suddenly, he realized that he was no longer bound. The ropes binding him were severed, almost seamlessly. He found himself staring at the ropes that once bound him so greatly. He looked back to the professors, noticing that one of them was returning their hands into the safety of the robe's sleeves. The elderly man continued, looking down at the Breton. "However, if you go, we will not intervene. It is a charity that we're accepting you. Not only does earning your keep make you valuable, but as a Breton, you intrigue us. Your kind is a rarity in Skyrim. If you wish to abandon this idea and die defending your friend, then by all means, go."

That word left Chago's mind blank. Die? The Khajiit would kill him? No… No…. As Chago turned back to see the Khajiit, his mind interpreted it all. He assumed just as the professors did. Because a member of their own kind was going risking the livelihood of the caravan, they were willing to fight her. Of course, because Ma'ri is of their own kind, Chago knew they would only subdue her. But Chago knew… Chago knew that he wasn't one of them. If the Khajiit would do so much against a member of their own kind, then what was stopping them from doing something worse to Chago? That thought froze him, forbidding him from moving forward. His will was shattered. As he saw the Khajiit only a few steps away from Ma'ri, a defeated cry left the Breton. "Just stop, Ma'ri!" His wounded cry shook them all. Ma'ri most definitely, for she saw just how low Chago's head had sunk. "Just stop…. I'm not worth it. Just … just go."

Ma'ri's heart sank. As she looked on, she knew that the will of the one she loved was broken. It was that cry that made Ma'ri wake up, facing the reality before her. Her brave soul faded away, consumed with the truth that her eyes could not ignore. Her own kind _truly_ wished to subdue her. They were willing to fight her to keep her away from the one she loved. She glared back at her father, watching as the black Khajiit barely managed to hold an exchanging glance. Ma'ri scoffed at them all. "The Khajiit… no, I am not one of you Khajiit. **_I_** am Chago's Khajiit!" She had completely abandoned the tongue of the Khajiit. She no longer desired to speak like one of them. In her eyes, she was not one of them anymore. "Ma'ro can't stand to look at this, but that will curse him!" The golden-brown Khajiit snarled, sheathing her blade. Ma'ri chuckled, but it was one of defeat. She reached an ultimatum. "Ma'ro… if you're still half of the father I admired, then listen well. If I can't have Chago, then you will not have me!"

Chago's cries no longer reached her. The father watched as the Khajiit raced out of Winterhold, displaying a pace unseen by the caravan. Elto was especially shocked, watching as she displayed feats of agility that even he became jealous of. Ma'ro yelled out for his caravan to be organized, demanding for his scouts to rush for her. But even he knew. Once he saw his daughter's speed, his dull face revealed the whole story; they weren't going to catch her. The thought of Ma'ri going on her own, leaving her family behind, the caravan behind, was just too much of a horrid thought for the Breton to hold. As Chago watched his friend leave his sight, he yelled for her to return. He didn't want this.


	3. 3 - Pride of the North

**3 – Self-Discovery**

 ***Month: Evening Star – 10 – 4E 200***

The Breton was a man now, and nothing proved that position better than looking after a childish classmate. A fellow scholar of the College of Winterhold had been making the Breton antsy, especially when he knew that other Khajiit knew better than to do the acts that his classmate got himself in. He personally despised the mangy scholar, but he took it upon himself to look after him. As he rushed through the large stone halls, moving hastily from pillar to pillar, he only hoped that he was not too late.

Many years were spent at the College of Winterhold, and since then he had gained knowledge and manners that made him more of a common man, but a man nonetheless. However, he was still an apprentice. His brown and blue robes cloaked the figure as he rushed through hall to hall. Effortlessly, his hands took to their flames. The small fireballs illuminated his surroundings as he kept moving, hoping to hear his fellow scholar. Unfortunately, what he soon heard was the sound of scuffling leather. Chago nearly tripped on the lowest part of his robe after recoiling back. He angrily sighed, soon eying the door that led to the source of the unfortunate noise.

Without warning, the Breton barged through the large, unlocked door. Such a room would normally be locked at this hour. It was becoming increasingly late at night and, despite Chago's apparent look of disdain, the other scholar continued to peruse through some of the stowed belongings. A muttered whisper left the Breton's throat. "J'zargo!" The humanoid feline paused his actions. He was arms deep in a desk where an important professor would sit. "We shouldn't be in the Arcanaeum! Let's go!"

The Khajiit barely batted an eye. Under his right arm was a collection of some of the preserved texts, many of which were forbidden to be taken from the library, let alone stolen. Such texts are to be reserved and preserved, but the gray Khajiit chuckled to himself. The voice had a sinister vibe to it, but Chago knew the man was far from that. If anything, the Breton could recognize the Khajiit as a man fueled by his arrogant desires. "Does the Breton fear the Orc? J'zargo was told that the Khajiit could not access these books. J'zargo needs these books."

"If Professor Gro-Shub finds us, he'll expel us both!"

"My little Breton friend, there is nothing for you to worry about."

"I'm taller than you!"

"Little in mind," J'zargo chuckled back. He amassed the small collection of old books and placed them under his robes. He tucked them in, hoping to conceal them for as much time as necessary. "Even the Orcs-"

"Orsimer," Chago corrected.

"Your persistence on being formal got you here, but it still doesn't work with J'zargo," The khajiit returned. His feline smile made the Breton wince for a moment. He recognized the face of a Khajiit, but the Breton refused to acknowledge J'zargo as one of them. Chago knew honorable Khajiit, and J'zargo was not one of them. He had great powers of a mage, but he was not a man Chago wished to remain around for too long. What drew the Breton towards such a Khajiit? Maybe, as much as the Breton denied himself of it, the Khajiit was the only thing that reminded him, albeit somewhat, of the one he truly cared for. "J'zargo came here to be great. This Khajiit has gotten far, but that Orc of a professor has kept J'zargo from truly surpassing the other apprentices. This Khajiit will not let him stop J'zargo."

A tense sigh echoed behind the two. The Breton froze upon hearing it. "Then perhaps I can." The Khajiit scoffed, annoyed by such a reveal. His groan was heavy as he recognized the Imperial's aged, yet lively voice. Chago grew antsy as he turned his head around, seeing the Imperial Mage standing before him in the open doorway. When he turned to the Breton a soft, forgiving smile came across his face. Professor Venaris knew exactly how to deal with the duo. "When you're done putting those books back, join me."

The only fortunate thing to come of this was that Chago didn't have to assist the mangey Khajiit. J'zargo had to put back the books on his own before joining his fellow scholar and professor. The two young men closed the door carefully; it was late at night and any unnecessary noise would just make things even more difficult. The tanned professor reached into his dark-black robes. Upon pulling out an ancient key, he locked the door with a satisfying click. Chago could hear J'zargo sigh from relief, but his eyes soon met the professor's stern gaze. "The Arcanaeum? Again, J'zargo? I'm almost surprised, but I'm disappointed that the craftiness of your race is waning."

The Khajiit smiled with tender eyes. The Breton could sense J'zargo's crazy expression. "Maybe J'zargo has learned more of the ways of Man than this Khajiit would've wanted."

Chago scoffed. "You cannot be serious. You only regret getting caught?"

The Khajiit turned back with a curious head. "When the elves, men, and even the orcs want to hold me back, what other option is there?"

"So much for pride."

The professor gave a hard smack with both hands. He wailed on the two scholars, hitting behind their heads. Both of them were knocked out of their argument, soon seeing Professor Venaris's back to them. He began to walk forward, leading the two scholars down the hall. The Imperial was right; this was no time for bickering. The two men were being led down for a possible punishment. The professor was quiet as he continued on his way down. He didn't even look back; he expected the Breton and the Khajiit to follow without another word. Even J'zargo had to silently admit to himself that he owed the man a great deal for being as silent as he was. Chago, however, continued to have his eyes dart around his surroundings nervously. It was through one of these glances that he picked up another scene.

He didn't expect anyone else to be up this late. To see new faces was also something to be expected. Once the three of them reached a hallway intersection, Chago's darting eyes took notice of three figures standing before an old mage. The professor looked to the three men with disdain. The three Nords, although expressing disappointment, had yet to make an aggressive move on the man. Chago thought to himself about how Professor Venaris could afford to ignore another scene. But then he sensed something; Chago could feel another presence there. He could _see_ a few slight shimmers residing behind the three masculine Nords. The illusionist professors were at the ready, residing in the shadows of their invisibility. Such an expert spell could only be utilized by such men of high esteem and prestige. The mages of Winterhold were not to be underestimated, but why would the professors let these three Nords in? They especially were not normal. Chago winced at the man standing in the front, leading the pack out of the three. The long, blonde hair on the men was tied back, revealing a patch. Was the man blind in his left eye? There was no way to tell. He spoke, however, harshly and with a gruff tone. "I grow tired of your answers. Will you not offer up some of your scholars to our cause?"

The old professor solemnly shook his head. "The students come here for knowledge. They do not learn to become beings of war. We do not wish to involve ourselves in your rambunctious politics, Reyne."

"You still think you can speak to me in such a tone?"

"I'm not afraid of any Stormcloak," the professor groaned. Chago's mind paused for a moment. Stormcloak? He had never heard of such a term. In all his years of living in this college, there was no mention of such a word. When Chago's eyes glanced back at the intense man, he could feel his demeanor shift. His upper body became much heavier. The man's right eye glared back as a cold smolder came from his lips. His blue, light-weight armor seemed to give way from the potential of his might. Even so, the aged professor did not yield. "I hope you will understand, but we like to keep out of the matters of Skyrim. We are a refuge for the ones who seek knowledge, nothing more."

"Fine then, keep holding your futile dreams for all I care," he sneered. The shimmers behind his group began to shake. The sightless mages were tempted to strike. However, Reyne merely looked away. It wasn't much, but it was a sign to have his two followers do the same. "We'll leave you alone for now. Don't expect me to be so kind the next time we come back. Next time, we'll be here for you." Chago felt someone grab his shoulder, making his feet scuffle. He glanced back to see J'zargo, yanking on the Breton's arms to ensure that they both caught up to the Imperial professor. Even though Chago became strained, he could overhear the Nord's last words before he left with his two companions. "The next time we come, we shall bring hell with us." 

* * *

It wasn't long before Chago and J'zargo were greeted with the familiar surroundings of their private professor's office. The two scholars morosely returned to the all-too-familiar seats positioned in front of Venaris's large, wooden desk. Along the walls were books fastened and snug, each one next to another. Such knowledge lined every one of the walls. Bookshelves essentially decorated the very room, leading to the finely-carved woodwork of the table that Professor Venarus sat behind. He folded his hands, soon glumly looking forward at his two private students. "Chago, I expected you to get a better hold of your friend's behavior."

"At this rate, I don't even think he sees me as a friend." J'zargo rolled his eyes, soon moaning back. The Breton snapped back. "I keep looking out for you, only for you to do this again and again. You lack honor. For someone as arrogant as you are, you truly aren't like the _Greats_ at all."

The Khajiit softly sighed back. "J'zargo doesn't need to play the game mankind and the elves set for him." He glared back at the Breton, baring his feline teeth as he coldly spoke. "This Khajiit never asked you to look out for me. Don't blame J'zargo for not being like that girl of yours. That crazy mess of a Khajiit! It's no wonder she was banned to come here!"

Chago scowled. "Talk badly of her again ... and I'll see to it that you're burned alive!"

J'zargo mused back with a smirk. "Only since fire is the _only_ destruction element you can muster, my little Breton friend." Chago's scowls intensified. A fresh lie, but not unfounded; Chago knew others but he wasn't as proficient as he would like to be. "It is not like she truly tried, either."

"She must have a reason."

"Why place so much trust in a Khajiit? You are of mankind, Little Chago."

The Professor finally intervened. "The same reason I still do." J'zargo was silenced. He huffed loudly before leaning back in his chair. "J'zargo, you possess a strong passion. You endlessly search to enhance your abilities. You're angry that the other professors are a hindrance to that. Even so, I've gone out of my way to make you two my private students. I've been giving you two boys access to my small library, more than enough to enlighten you. Surely, J'zargo, you must have acknowledged this as a sign of my praise for you. I do not see you as another Khajiit, for you have something they do not, and it worries me that you're going down a path of thievery for the sake of attaining more."

"Don't pretend you don't despise my very soul, Professor," J'zargo growled. "Maybe you are curious at what Winterhold's only Khajiit scholar can muster. All this Khajiit knows is that J'zargo needs to know more. J'zargo needs to know much more if this Khajiit wishes to become great."

Professor Venaris glanced over at Chago. The Breton winced, nervous at the sight of the man's eyes. He didn't want to get into more trouble about all of this. Venaris finally spoke, nodding to the Breton. "Have your duties been fulfilled?"

"… Yes," Chago nervously replied. "I only returned to the barracks when I finished cleaning the other Professors' studies. That's when I found out that J'zargo was gone."

"Understandable," the professor mused. He squinted at the Breton, making the man grow even tenser by the second. "… Do you like having J'zargo around?"

"I mean… yes. He can be bothersome, but I like being around other Khajiit."

"As I surmised," the Imperial professor stated. "That reminds me; another letter from her came in for you." The Breton's nervous eyes transformed in an instant. His eyes lit up as a sudden wave of joy hit his waning spirit. The professor smiled, soon extending a folded piece of paper to the Breton. J'zargo groaned, looking away as the Chago read the letter to himself. In only a few moments he read the note over three to four times. He lost count, but he could never forget Ma'ri's scratchy handwriting.

 _"To my Precious Friend,_

You have a wonderful professor. I'm happy for you. One day, you and I will plan something. We will meet again. I have been busy, and you have been so too. Even then, I'm nervous about seeing you again. I have changed, and maybe not for the better. Still, I'm willing to take that chance. I want to at least have the chance to see you without any walls. I also want to see the kind of man you have become. I cannot wait for that. I dream of such a day. Sincerely, from your Precious Friend,

 _-Ma'ri"_

J'zargo scoffed back, for he too had read the note. As his eyes pulled back his sight, he complained audibly to himself. "She doesn't even speak like a Khajiit."

Chago shrugged back. "She doesn't need to."

The professor smiled back. "I managed to get that note a few days ago, but finding you has been difficult, and I know how precarious you are about just leaving it under your door. I don't want you to lose any like the last time." Chago proudly agreed, nodding vigorously. "You're fortunate I can spare enough time to walk out there around noontime. However, even then I seldom see her. That brings me to the main purpose of this meeting. I did not come here to reprimand you. Instead, I'm here to offer important words."

J'zargo raised his right brow. "What kind of words do you have for this Khajiit?"

"It's not just you; it's both of you," the professor began. "You have excelled as apprentices, and you have learned some of the more mildly difficult spells to master. Such practice is always important, considering that many scholars spend dozens of years learning some of the expert spells. However, I am afraid that both of you have reached a wall of sorts."

"A wall?"

"It was actually Ma'ri's letter that made me wonder about this," the professor continued. Chago leaned forward after carefully placing the letter in his robe pocket. J'zargo glanced over, noticing that many other letters were in his pockets too. It made him roll his eyes again, but his attention was quickly brought back to the professor. "J'zargo, you have reached a point where you feel like the professors are holding you back. Chago, even though you have done well, I sense that you are distracted by your desires of the outside world. This is why, for the time being, I am going to be suspending the both of you."

Chago immediately got up from his chair. "Suspending?!"

"Now hold on, Chago," the professor reassured. "Not that sort. You aren't banned from the college. For the time being, I am suspending you two because further time here, at this rate, will only restrict your ability to grow. You especially, Chago; you joined the college when you were just an older child. All you truly know is from the college; anything else is from the Caravan." Chago lowered his head. He could feel the truth yanking at his soul. "As for you, J'zargo, if you truly desire to learn more, then go. You've reached a point where it is time for you to learn of the world. It is time for you to learn more from the land of which you are learning from."

J'zargo shook his head. "This Khajiit doesn't see the point."

"What good is amassing knowledge when you don't know when to use it?" The professor asked with a noticeable grin. The Khajiit crossed his arms. "You cannot deny that you feel like you cannot go past what the other professors desire. Maybe it is time for you to learn more from others. Seek out new knowledge from what the world can teach you, but don't forget what you have learned."

Chago looked into his lap. He wasn't completely sure about all of this. "I… still don't know. I mean, I don't even know where Ma'ri is. She's definitely the first person I'd want to find. In all of the letters from her, not one of them tells me what she's doing now. I don't even know if she's back with her father…."

"Then seek her out," the professor returned. "Make that a goal. Maybe it would also do J'zargo some good to introduce him to someone with honor; a Khajiit of honor would be a good model for him."

The Khajiit sighed. "J'zargo cannot argue against it, can he?"

Venaris shook his head. "I'll give you two a month. Until then, prepare to set out. By then, every one of the other scholars and professors will know about this. I may not know when you'll return. Also, I may not be here. All I know is that I want you two to go and learn in a way that you can't learn from within the walls of this college. There are just some types of knowledge that cannot be learned from reading a book; sometimes, one needs to truly experience the world around them in order to learn." 

* * *

***Month: Evening Star – 10 – 4E 200***

The pale-skinned Nord slowly came back to his senses. His surroundings became new and unfamiliar. Leigh's head was heavy. The world became inverted as he traversed through his body's senses. His arms and legs recoiled with each horrid attempt at a flail. Each stroke of his arm was weak, nearly lifeless. His legs crumbled at the mere thought of trying to stand. Ordinary movement was impossible. All he could do was roll, but even that was a struggle. The Nord's body flattened on the hard, wooden floor. The dampness of it left him uncomfortable. His nose twitched at the sudden realization of humid uptake. Humidity was not impossible for him, but the air became much heavier from it. The new feeling was what got him to open his eyes, allowing the young man to see the floorboards resting beneath him.

A stern voice echoed in the room. It demanded a response regardless of what she herself said. "Sleep well?"

Such a new voice startled the young Nord. The man tumbled onto his side as his vision noticed the worn down surroundings. Nothing but a few small candles illuminated the room. The shack was worn down from age and lack of restoration. He wearily looked over to where he thought he heard the noise. Sitting above him was a hooded woman of some sorts. Small streaks of blonde hair peered out from her black hood. Upon her body was a foreboding crimson set of armor, though it was thin and tight. It resembled that of a cloak of some sort, though the melding of the crimson and black colors, as well as the lack of a dress, made Leigh wonder if this woman was like any of the others he had met before. This blonde, blue-eyed and pale woman carried a tense gaze. Her very face was far from fair, but only because of the powerful and wicked nature that resided within it. It was a face that demanded respect, almost like she was a commander of some sort. Leigh, overcome with exhaustion and the heaviness of his worn body, barely acknowledged that. "Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" The woman returned with a cold, strong voice. "You're warm, dry… and still very much alive. That's more than can be said for the Thane of the Pale."

Leigh's body shook to life. The utterance of such a familiar name rattled him. He got up and stared right back at the woman. Even with the bottom half of her head concealed, he could almost feel the woman grinning back at him. Leigh grimaced before staring into his left hand. He curled it, soon watching as it shook violently. "You know… How in the hell do you know about him? How do you still care?!"

"I'll be honest, it was difficult to track you at first," the woman replied with a monotonous tone. However, it came with a slight hint of intrigue. "The guards and the Thane's son first thought the assailant was just a small man."

"... Reyne..." Leigh then cursed the name.

"No one even cared to think that it was a child that assassinated the Thane of the Pale. However, I have my sources. I have men that were able to contact that little group of yours. In exchange for the nullification of a contract, I spared their leader for information about _you_."

"Contract?" Leigh gasped to himself. His mind clicked. He chuckled, but his voice creaked with defeat. It was like he was laughing at himself. "… I thought you lot took contracts more seriously than that."

"So you're familiar with us?"

"How can I not?" Leigh returned with a silent sneer. "When I left Skyrim's North, I would overhear the talk of guardsmen discussing the possibilities of the killing. Your guild came up. You're a member of the Dark Brotherhood." Leigh lowered his head, looking to his side. "Now I get it. The Thane of the Pale was a target of yours, wasn't he?"

The woman hummed to herself. It wasn't a girly hum by any means, but it was one with stately satisfaction. "I'm glad that things are going smoothly. Yes, you took one of our kills. The Thane of the Pale became a target as designated by a woman who was forced out of town a few years back."

"A woman?"

"We keep things confidential," the Nord woman replied. "I can't even tell you where she's from. If there's one thing that needs to be understood is that we must keep things under the table. Otherwise, we lose one of the things that make the Dark Brotherhood powerful." She walked closer to the young man, eying him down with intrigued eyes. "I was going to kill you, but then I found out your age… it is not common in Skyrim to have someone murder a man like the Thane at such a young age. That is why I wish to show you a much more … familiar entrance into my Brotherhood." With a stern gesture, she brought Leigh's attention to a lone figure resting behind him. A poorly-woven bag covered the figure's head. "That pack of wild ones told me _why_ you wished to kill the Thane of the Pale. I figured, out of _the kindness of my heart_ , I'd show you a certain someone." Those last words left Leigh breathless. As he saw the figure remain still on his knees, he couldn't help but piece something together. For the woman to say something like that… and she already knows who he is. Could this mean…. Leigh's mind went in spirals as he hastily walked towards the still silent figure. The figure carried the physique of a rather impressively-muscled man. The pale skin tone ran with Leigh's mental projection. Could it be true? Did the woman truly bring _him_ here? The woman shrugged before carelessly dropping a small knife at Leigh's side. The rattling seemed to frighten the subdued man. He shook a bit before soon subsiding. Leigh could faintly hear a muffled groan. "Your task is to kill him, but you must unmask him first. He is gagged, blinded, and deafened. I want you to show me your willingness to kill."

Leigh didn't see the reason for this process. If this was the man he was expecting, then he wanted to kill him now. Even with such an intense, passionate feeling threatening to take over his very soul, he recognized that he was at the mercy of another. He glanced back at the blonde woman. Leigh could see the experience with only one glance back. There was no reason for him to back out of this or to act unnaturally. He recognized the situation and, in doing so, knew that it was important to follow the rather cumbersome order. His impatience got the better of him as he hastily ripped away at the bag. In one instant, the bag gripped at the man's head, tearing away additional cloth. Leigh intensely gripped the bag and cloth in one hand while the knife was tightly grasped with his left. Suddenly, he grimaced. The cloth he had torn off… it revealed the truth to him. The man he was looking at had two eyes. The man didn't have any scarring either.

Leigh dropped the knife and bag. The woman sighed as she watched the will get torn away from the boy in an instant. Looking back at the two of them was a cold, hulking man. His burning brown eyes stared at the Nord that unmasked him. The prisoner couldn't move; his arms and legs were completely bound behind him. He had no choice but to play along with the whimpering halfwit in front of him. The woman rolled her eyes before approaching the prisoner. She yanked away at every other bit of remaining cloth that was wrapped around other areas of the man. The prisoner had his senses restored. She returned to her side of the room, leaning against the wall. She frowned, angry at the stunt the child was now pulling. She audibly sighed. "You were expecting someone else, correct?"

"… You told me… no, you led on-"

"I 'led on' nothing. You assumed that I would just find the man you've been seeking? It was hard enough finding you, an elusive child. The man you wish to kill is allied with the Stormcloaks. He isn't someone who's easy to confront."

"The Stormcloaks?"

"I don't believe it," she muttered silently. "In an instant, that will of yours just vanished. Are you really the person who killed the Thane?"

"… I-… I can't just kill someone I hardly know!" Leigh yelled back. "For all I know, you just captured some poor guy!"

"People are put on each contract for a reason, Leigh," the woman sternly returned. "You have to make up for the kill you stole from us."

The captured man began to speak. The being began with a cackle. His husky, dark voice emanated from the gaping abyss that was his mouth. Leigh was almost frightened by the man's sudden burst of tenacity. The brown eyes glared intensely at the young Nord. "Is this what I am to you? Some kind of test for a child?" The woman didn't answer, and neither did Leigh. The two were silent in their own ways. As the blonde Nord stared back, disappointed with Leigh's abilities, Leigh was shaken by the man's vigor. "Man… I hate children like you. And _you_ ," the captured man eyed the member of the Dark Brotherhood. "Your blonde hair… it makes me think of my wife. Just like you, she never learned her goddamn place!"

A swift fist slammed into the man's right cheek. His head was forced to the ground from the sudden impact. The silent woman breathed with intrigue as her eyes followed the young Nord's left fist. It was shaking. The young man didn't possess the knife but instead wielded his own might. The captured man groaned, gritting his teeth as he scowled back at the pale Nord. Leigh felt his fist continue to shake. "You have some nerve. What kind of monster are you?" Leigh didn't see the new man anymore. He saw _him_. "What gives you such a right?!"

"Oh, so now you talk?" The captured man returned with a confident smirk. "Guess that means you actually have some backbone. Did I touch a nerve?"

"Your wife…."

"What about that wench?" The man coldly sneered. "She has no right to boss me around. I don't care if we have a kid; damn leech. I go out and bring home what we need to survive. It's the wife's job to do the caring. She has no right to be silent to me and act I'm not here. Sometimes, she just needs a little _smack_ to realize this."

"You… monster…."

"What are you gonna do about it?" The crook returned with a hearty smile. "With someone as gutless as you, I doubt you'll even come close to-"

He couldn't finish his reply. Blood had begun to fill the man's mouth. There also just so happened to be a knife wedged within it. It all happened so quickly. Even the member of the Dark Brotherhood was almost surprised by how sudden and swift the knife came through. The metal portion of the blade had pierced between the chin and the neck. The knife, by Leigh's hand, struck deep until it was visible within the man's mouth. The poor excuse of a man… the crook shivered. Pain gripped him as he attempted to thrash his way to freedom. It was all in vain; he flailed his arms and legs, attempting to force them outward. With each groan from the pain, Leigh stuck the knife deeper into the confines of the monster's mouth. The knife went deeper… and deeper… the edge pricked at the roof of the man's mouth. Finally, with one strong thrust, Leigh rammed the edge through the roof of it. The crook gasped. His body stiffened. Blood became his dress. Leigh yanked on the knife, removing it in an instant. Blood sputtered outward as a dying sigh left the captured crook before him. Leigh saw past the blood. With one final thrust, he rammed the knife into the man's left eye, striking the oh-so-familiar spot. That was his mark. That was where he was born to strike! Leigh rammed his hand forward until the knife became one with the felon's head. At that point, one would be a fool to keep track of the liquid crimson. Leigh let go, letting the defiled beast fall limply onto the ground. The humid wood couldn't even absorb the blood. Some fell through the cracks in the floor. Leigh, for one moment, glanced back at the woman standing behind him. That's when she finally saw it; she saw the eyes of a true killer. Leigh looked away, lowering his head. "… You knew he was like this, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did." The leader of the Dark Brotherhood stepped away from the wall. She gazed at Leigh's creation, watching as the young Nord hung his head low. He was satisfied, but not completely. It pained him to see that _beasts_ like that could still be out there. Leigh tightened his grip on the makeshift stake. His fingers peeled and splintered against the roughest edges of the piece of wood. The blood of the fallen man coated Leigh's clothes. His eyes still saw red as he stared helplessly at the man he killed. He wanted to smile. He was happy. This was one more person that was like the man he desired to kill. But… this _wasn't_ the man he wanted to kill. He was another monster, but he wasn't the one who hurt his sister. The Nord approached Leigh's side, taking the stake from his lifeless hand. "Not every person is like this man," she began. Leigh's ears stiffened. It was enough for the leader to know that he was still listening. "Finally, you realized that you have to kill _others_ , not just _him_. Some may be better than him, some may be worse. I did this to give you a sliver of satisfaction… but I can give you more."

"… I need more," Leigh muttered coldly. A long, deathly breath came from the pale Nord. "I want to kill that man. I want to kill everyone like him!"

"Fortunately, you can be trained to do so," the woman returned. "I am known as Astrid, leader of the Dark Brotherhood. You shall exist under my wing. I shall hone your present abilities. In a little time, we will return to the Brotherhood's Sanctuary. No point in bringing someone too fresh for wear. Do you accept?"

Leigh chuckled. "You'd kill me if I said no."

Astrid finally unmasked herself, revealing a sly grin. "It's good to see a fellow _thinking_ Nord. Such men are truly hard to come by."


	4. 4 – A New Age

***Month: Morning Star – 7 – 4E 201***

She thought the end was finally drawing near. The Redguard had long since accepted her fate. When she was captured with the rest of the miserable lot, she understood that she was going to be considered a part of them. Not only that, but her name wasn't on a "list" or something. She paid no mind to such trivial matters and only focused on the important part; she, along with many others, was going to be executed.

Maybe it was her single-mindedness that made her not care for her surroundings. As she was led to the execution stand, she heard some rabble about the Stormcloaks. She didn't care. The Redguard did not wish to prolong this matter any longer. She simply wanted to be sent to the fate given to her. She was tired. She looked it too; she was exhausted with dealing with that horrid excuse of a guard. She remembered hearing that Imperial woman bring her forward while ordering for her to be killed with the rest. The man beside her spoke prayers, but she cared little of them. "You're still going to stand by and watch me die." When she looked behind her, even if was for a moment, she could see the blonde-haired man looking in disbelief, gagged and staring off. The man's hazel eyes didn't look at anything in particular, even when the guards around him cheered for the end of the Stormcloaks. The Redguard didn't even bother thinking about such trivial affairs; the dead men were still going to be dead at the hand of the Imperials.

The Redguard felt someone grasp onto her head. She would have fought back but she was too bound to do so. Her hands were tied tightly behind her. She would have followed the demands of these Imperials if they had simply told her what to do. She cared too little to hate them. The Redguard bent down, glancing over at the large, tense man wielding the large ax. Her time was about to come. She sighed before staring down at the bucket beneath her. Her head was placed along the block, still feeling the fresh blood of another fresh kill. That was when it happened; a foreign roar echoed throughout the Fort of Helgen.

"What was that?" A nervous voice called out.

"It was nothing," another answered. "Go on with the execution."

But it wasn't 'nothing.' For the first time since she got here, the Redguard's heart began to beat rapidly. Such a roar was that of legend. The air became colder and the winds began to pick up. The Fort of Helgen could only look upward, staring at the great being that finally revealed itself. With its wings spread wide, the chrome beast soared across the skies. His body called forth the storm as nature began to bend to its own will. The creature barely appeared to have eyes; he looked to only have a horrifying glow within them. The redness in the unholy beast's eyes screamed for bloodshed. The Executioner turned, seeing the beast in all of its might. There was no reason to accept this fate. The Redguard got up, foreseeing the danger this dragon could bring, not just to this fort, but to all who lived throughout the land of Skyrim.

* * *

 ***Month: Morning Star – 8 – 4E 201 – Before Midday***

With his light training complete, the young Nord was able to be given what Astrid had promised. As the great sphere of light in the sky was on the cusp of peering over the nearby mountaintops, Leigh observed a lone house very carefully. He remained behind a small hillside, watching the home carefully without any disturbances. It was only a matter of time before he saw the person he truly wished to see; he saw his sister.

It had been years since he got the chance to see her. The news of his kill was still fresh. Even as years past, guards would keep a closer watch on the assailant. It was only until recently that enough was enough; he wanted to see that his sister was still doing well despite his absence. He became content watching her. She observed her surroundings carefully as she seemingly pranced out of the house. Dressed in thick garb, she welcomed the day rather gingerly. Leigh was certainly impressed with how little she feared the world. She only feared that one man, even if it was just for a moment. And now, with her casually preparing for the new year, as she prepared herself for the tedious chore of gathering firewood, Leigh could see that she was doing well for herself.

A large smile began to gleam on his face. Something within him forced him to tuck behind the small hill, fearing that his smile could be seen. He wasn't used to showing off such a bright happiness to others since the horrendous incident. Even now, he felt rather empty knowing that he can no longer be by his sister's side. A sudden thought came into his mind: "It's weird for a woman to be doing a father's job," he thought to himself. "Where's my father? Is he out? If that's true, then why can't I hear my mother complaining?" Nothing made sense to him. However, he soon found himself dismissing his doubts. He no longer cared about their absences anyways. The thoughts of them, and what their actions concocted, only swarmed his mind with thoughts or horrid hatred and bad memories.

* * *

 ***Month: Evening Star – 20 – 4E 190***

The Northern reaches of Skyrim were used to such intense chills. As one moves closer to the towering mountains nearest to the very edges of the land, the snowfall was commonplace and expected. It is but a common occurrence and one to be braved. A common man and mer, and even some beastmen, would find survival in these regions difficult to inhabit. Such freezing air, however, was something to be taken in with pride. Resistance to the harsh colds proves one worth and strength, and such traits were highly valued to the Nords of the North.

Such men carried the traits involving that of brute strength. Their hard heads appeared to protect themselves from the cold as well, at the cost of a lot of their intelligence. Such an idea was stereotypical of this branch of the race of men, despite the many outliers showing both intellect and strength. Such warriors were to be feared. Pale of skin, black of hair, and muscle tone rivaling that of the Redguards—a race of man, darker of tone, that towered above them—these men were stubborn to the core. Breaking the will of a Nord is not such an easy feat, and should be respected highly if such a thing is accomplished.

Not all Nords were of this stature. Despite the young age of this particular Nord, seeing at least nine years of his life, the people around him could see the undefined nature of his body. He wasn't like most Nord children; he was much more reserved and quiet, less likely to get into a brawl. Every other individual residing in Dawnstar knew this. Even within the confines of his home, protected by his mother as she began to make dinner for the family, he found himself mentally at everyone's mercy. He observed his frail, white-skinned arms. He attempted to think about what he could do to resolve his meek and frail self, but the flickering of the flames in the fireplace kept creeping into his mind. His eyelids began to feel heavy. The flames begged for him to walk closer and rest. Leigh was especially tired.

As he crept closer to the fireplace, he gazed wearily toward the flames. He curled up and stared at the chaotic yet seamless nature of it. Something burned within him; it was contempt. The flames began to churn and shake even wildly. Leigh's emotions ran wild within him as his eyes emotionless stared at the light of man. A soft scowl left the boy's lips. Without his knowing, it was loud enough to alert his mother. She wished she could find the energy to care, but the thoughts of her husband's whereabouts kept itching at the back of her mind. She was already making everyone's dinner, and she was already worried about where the drunkard could be. The last thing she needed was to worry about her son. "Oh dear, you're doing this again," she sighed, soon looking over to the wooden staircase. "Hellen, can you tend to him?"

It was almost as if the daughter knew the state of his brother's mind. Each step down the stairs was quick, alerting Leigh of the new presence. He saw his rather fair sister, black of hair with skin soft enough to be like that of a newborn. Dressed in a light dress of cloth, she appeared in front of Leigh like an angel far from the world of mortal men and mer. She smiled softly before approaching the scowling child. Kneeling beside Leigh, the older sister came to the child's side as the two of them began to look into the flames. "Did something happen today, Leigh?"

"… No."

The tone was sharp, feeling incredibly rehearsed. The sister caught on to the display easily. Being double the boy's age, she was much more prepared mentally than Leigh could ever hope to be at his age. "Leigh, you _did_ promise me you'd talk about these things more."

"I did," he returned lowly. The boy's eyes glanced off at an empty wall, pretending that something interesting was there. "And no 'thing' happened."

The sister sighed, but it wasn't the disappointed kind. It was one of pity, as well as worry, for she saw a mark far too familiar to Leigh. The boy realized too late that he had turned his head in a way that revealed an impressionable gash peering out from the edge of his shoulder. "Leigh…." She quickly reached over for it, softly pulling against the collar. The cut ran down the shoulder, and just before she could see if the cut continued, Leigh grabbed her arm. He shoved her away, tightly grasping at his collar so that no one else could see the scabbed wound. "… Was it Odric's son, again?"

Leigh attempted to grumble, but he could feel his will weaken. "It's nothing. Nobody did it."

"Leigh…."

"Tell Papa, and I'll run again," Leigh returned coldly. "He'd stop you in a heartbeat. _He won't risk losing you to find me, not again_."

Hellen was crushed. Nothing would hurt her more than the loss of her brother. Leigh, despite his young age, was adept at reading the environment around him. He understood why his sister was so important; she was necessary to keep this family afloat.

It was because of her lover. The man tumbled into the home with an older man behind him. The two exchanged the one-armed embrace of camaraderie, keeping each other up with one arm wrapped around the other's shoulder. Taking pride in their foul stench, the two of them laughed boisterously. Hellen hastily patted Leigh on the shoulder. The boy gave a nod before hastily moving out of the room. However, against protocol, he peered behind a doorway and looked beyond, wide-eyed at the scene before him. As the two men stumbled back onto their feet, the younger male, a few years older than Hellen, eyed the girl. "'Ello Darling," he spoke. His speech was weak and slurred. Hellen could smell the alcohol in his breath, making her wince. His long, brown hair was disheveled, covered with small patches of snow. He must have fallen down on the way to his home. To Leigh's family, Reyne owned this home. He was the son of Herald, Thane of the Pale. He was the son of an important man, which made Reyne make use of his father's coattails. It was of fortune that he welcomed the family into his home, especially when he had fallen for the fair maiden. "You're a beaut."

Hellen couldn't bring herself to speak, but she could still smile. Her brother's words still stung the back of her mind, even when the blue-eyed warrior of a man stood before her, hoisting her own father up on his own. His long, ruffled and messy hair made the action look seamless. It flowed with his movements and accentuated his pale skin. The man's blonde hair certainly was a feature that brought out the muscular man's charm, but the quiet moment continued to remain. Fortunately, the father managed to fill the silence, speaking the praise of the one soon to be his son-in-law. "This man… this man with pure-blood of Nords, listen… listen all!" He kept blabbering out loud. Hellen looked at the young Nord with taunting eyes. Her smirk played with the young warrior as she closed the door behind them. "No liquor could taint this soul! Son of the thane Herald! A man like him! Oh! A man like him!" He continued to bellow with laughter as Reyne smirked back. He was in complete control. Already, he had stolen the man of the house's approval.

The mother was not as pleased, however. It didn't matter to the son of the thane; the mother was valued next to nothing. Even though the mother found distaste for the man, she brushed the feeling aside. Such an act was something that she grew accustomed to; she had to in order to keep this family afloat. She never appreciated the Thane of the Pale, and she certainly never wanted the creature's son to be wed to her daughter. However, she had to accept. Due to the father's drunken nature, making end's meat was difficult. At least, with the son involved, the father could drink and the family could still survive. Still, the mother did not like seeing her husband walk around with such a stupor obviously shown on his face. "Haren, shall we talk? Alone?"

"Yeah, yeah," the drunken man returned. He nodded apologetically to his young drinking partner. "I'm sorry for Ellen. She isn't an entertainer."

Reyne chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he released the father from his grip. "Ah, I'm sure we can talk some more once you two settle things. You two have yourselves some fun."

The father raised the right corner of his mouth. He was then grasped by the wife, angrily pulled up the stairs as the two of them exchanged complaints. "Ellen, you're out of your mind!"

"We're guests here, and you think it's fine to be a drunk!"

"We were having fun! I was entertaining the guy!"

"No, you were being some Fetcher!"

"Now you listen here!"

The two voices continued to fade away until a door slammed behind him. Reyne sighed with relief, now seeing that the parents were in their own little world. He glanced over at the one he chose, soon meeting with a returning gaze of the begging female. Reyne's eyes yearned for her as the two Nords came close. "There you are." He spoke with pride. Leigh stared back with contempt as he observed the two getting close. Something just didn't sit right with him. Refusing to eat, making sure to stay out of sight, he went to his bed and laid himself out, hoping for the next day to come.

He woke up. There was a rumbling somewhere, but by the time he woke up, it was gone. Wrapped in the thin blanket, the young child looked around. He only saw darkness, lonely darkness. He was hungry, but he was used to skipping meals out of embarrassment. It was not stuck on his mind; he could move on from it. The noise worried him. It wasn't normal. He then heard it again, but this time he heard a sharp yelp. It was that of Reyne. Leigh shot up from his bed and rushed to the exit of his small, cramped bedroom.

The lonely child peered through a crack in the door. He was hesitant to step right into the fray. Within the crack, he was able to see all. The outer room still had the fireplace lit and alive. "They're still up?" Leigh thought to himself. However, his disdain left him, for terror choked him. Overturned chairs and wooden tables left the room in an unstable mess of mayhem. Soon, the sounds of hard thumps banged on the floor. What the hell was going on?

When he heard a feminine voice heaving heavily, Leigh got worried. He pushed open the door and hastily turned to the source, seeing his sister standing tall. She breathed heavily, eyes filled with scorn while crying for murder. Leigh's legs rattled, shaking at the sight of the fallen Nord before his sister's feet. The man's face was a rose-red; drunk beyond belief. His body was laid back against the floor. He had fallen through a thin desk, smashing it into pieces from his own weight and muscle. Even in defeat, the man appeared to brag about the sort of strength. His eyes glared back at the woman who had defeated him. Hellen wanted none of this and had punished him with her own strength. "You've crossed the line! I can't take this anymore! I won't deal with you anymore!"

Leigh's voice whimpered back. "H-Hellen?"

The sister's once-confident voice was gone. She turned to her little brother with uneasy eyes. What was she to tell him? She didn't want her little brother to see this very thing. She turned her back to the fallen man, soon rushing over to Leigh's side. "Leigh, why are you-?"

Leigh couldn't warn her in time. The moment the sister turned her back to the man, Reyne rushed to his feet. He slammed his fist square against Hellen's back, striking her down. A pained cry left her as she fell to the floor, reduced to that of a wounded child in an instant. She curled her body from the pain, submitting to the man's sucker punch. As Leigh rushed for his sister he saw the cruel man towering above him with malicious eyes. An emotionless sigh left the crook's lips. "Don't get involved. She wanted this."

Leigh screamed back. "You hit her!"

"Don't yell again!" He muttered with vigor. "Do that and I'll shut you up for good!"

Life came back into Hellen's eyes. "I won't let you!" She forced herself up through the pain, striking back against the taller, stronger Nord. That surprising hit had knocked away more of her strength than she thought. The man was not budging, he stared down at the woman before him. He sneered, glaring at her as she refused to have the man lay a finger on her little brother. Leigh's shook. He had to do something. But those eyes; those cold, lifeless blue eyes… they froze him. He couldn't think. He could barely move. As the man pressed back against Leigh's sister, she coughed out, struggling to yell. The man's drunken strength had returned, ready to return a horrendous assault. Leigh couldn't let that happen. A second wind came from him. It felt too unreal to him. He questioned himself as he soon realized that he regained his ability to move. He wasn't frozen! What was it? What was the thing that melted away his fears? It was a will; a will to protect him. His sister was fighting for his sake, and he could not let her down because of it.

But he didn't have his own strength. He needed something else; something to give him at least some kind of advantage. At the corner of his eye was a silver object. Without wasting any time to think about it, he rushed for it, snatching it in his hands as he rushed to his sister's aid. Leigh pulled back with a will of a demon, stabbing at the man's face with the silver object. He was blinded with rage, unable to fathom the events happening around him. Everything was happening so fast as the man screamed before him. He was thrown back with his sister, forced to lay beside her as she reached out to him. Leigh didn't understand the magnitude of his actions. Just when the parents made their way downstairs to confront the noise, many armored men rushed into the house. The guards were here, alerted by the horrific noise. They gasped, seeing the son of the Thane grasping at the left side of his face. Where tears normally fell, blood came, piercing through the small sockets of his fingers. One guard made himself known out of the rest, rushing past the others as he came to Reyne's side. "You're eye! What happened to your eye?!"

The other guards stood around the fallen children, restricting the parent's access. The men stood with contempt as they glared at Leigh's left hand. "So that's what happened." Leigh finally realized what he had taken. He gasped, soon looking over at the object in his left hand. It was a fork. Within the fork's claws were the remains of the Nord's eye. The fleshy piece twitched, making Leigh drop it out of shock. He winced before rushing to his sister's side. She embraced him, staring back at the guards with contempt. The guards, however, wanted none of that. "Let go of the boy."

"You'd put a child in jail?!" Hellen screamed back. "Please, don't! Put me in instead!"

Another guard spoke up. "Boss, it wouldn't be a good idea."

"What do you mean?" The other barked back. "He's wounded the son of the Thane!"

Reyne just growled, angrily staring at the girl. "I don't care what you do; get the family out of my sight! Out of my house!"

Leigh cried out. "He hurt her! He hurt my sister!"

One of the guards scoffed back. "Is that an accusation?" Before Leigh had the chance to respond, his parents circled him. He was constrained, further restricted of any speech of movement. His struggles were futile. With each bend and twist, he could hear his parents muttering to him. They both shared something he never expected to hear; contempt. Contempt for helping his sister? That didn't make sense to him. The man hurt his sister, and he had to help her. Leigh couldn't fathom such a thing. Then, as he looked back to who appeared to be the main guard, the guard nodded. "We'll… keep this under wraps… if you know what's better for you and stay quiet. I wouldn't want some outliers speaking ill of someone who lost an eye while hunting a bear, eh?"

That was the cover. Was that supposed to be the story? Leigh couldn't understand. How could he understand the value of reputation? The guards could've killed them all there, but what good would it do? To involve the son of the Thane in such a bloodbath would be counter to everything! As the son of the Thane, Reyne needed his reputation to remain fresh. But, it appeared to come without a cost to him. Instead, other people had to pay for Reyne's debt. As the guards took hold of Leigh and his family, the child only stared back at the wounded crook. The son of the Thane looked back, smirking fiendishly as he returned a fanciful wave. Confidence peered through his disgusting teeth. The man's confidence remained as he gripped tightly on the coattails of his father. As the family was forced out of the home, in the dead of night where only the unfair cold greeted them, Leigh couldn't help but have Reyne, son of Herald, the Thane of the Pale, ingrained in his mind. It's a face that he would never forget. 

* * *

**(Present)**

He didn't want to think back to those memories anymore; all he cared about was the fact that his sister was still doing well. The absence of his parents also meant that Hellen was much freer. That was all that Leigh wanted. However, as he turned to his side, he could see that the leader of the Dark Brotherhood was becoming rather impatient. She gave a stern glare as she pulled herself up. She displayed no fear. She wore the garb of a fair maiden despite her astute and stern demeanor. She wore it rather nicely, though; even Leigh could admit that. Without much effort, the woman wore her thick, white and blue garb like she was a person of high esteem, keeping Leigh in the role of some bodyguard. Her cold stare hadn't left Leigh's sight, for it was time that they head southwest. They were at a small village a few miles from Dawnstar, and Astrid needed to bring Leigh somewhere after her month-long absence from the rest of the Brotherhood. "I am tired of waiting. It is time I lead you to my Brotherhood."

Leigh wanted to whine, but he was not an idiot. He could tell that he was at the woman's mercy. For her to speak so freely to him; he knew that he was completely outmatched against her. The young Nord had no choice but to stand up. Despite the now somewhat muscle-toned man, looking rather spry after twenty years in the world of the living, this older woman expressed no doubts that she could end him with a mere thought. He started after Astrid, coming to her side with a dagger in hand. "Mind if we stop somewhere first? I want to stop at the Khajiit Caravan."

"You would waste time with the Khajiit?" Astrid returned with a low scowl. "I've known several Khajiit to be effective servants to the Brotherhood, but the ones you speak of are thieves."

"In our position, you speak lowly of Khajiit?"

"Thieves, mostly. Not just the Khajiit. They don't have the courtesy to just kill someone outright; they'd rather suck someone dry for everything they have." Astrid glared back at the young Nord. "Take my advice, Leigh; do not bother with them. They're convenient, but it comes at a cost; it always does."

"But I need to buy a dagger," Leigh returned with a low tone. "I still only have the one you gave me, and that's all banged up. Not even a millstone can restore it."

Astrid spoke in a mocking tone. "Then, by all means, go toss away your savings, but don't come to me when you realized you were sucked dry."

"To be fair, you don't look so trusting yourself."

"Is that because you know who I truly am?"

"I just don't get why you can look so innocent and…." Leigh caught himself, stopping before he would embarrass himself further. "Erm… how can you not worry about getting caught or someone recognizing you?"

"Simple; don't act guilty," she sternly returned. "I perform my duties under my hood. I _know_ that no one will know me. Knowing that, I understand that I have nothing to fear. Besides, it is the nervous men that appear to be the _most_ guilty."

Along the trip to the ruined settlement, there was a small Khajiit Caravan settled nearby. Leigh didn't particularly understand why the Khajiit would settle near a worn-down village. After some thought, he realized that it was due to the need for supplies and other business. With poverty, there was a necessity. With necessity, there were people willing to do more than just purchase some wares. Exchanges and trades for necessary supplies would also be a form of usable currency. Leigh didn't know what to think of such a tactic; on one hand, the people in the village were given the chance to find merchants that they could purchase wares from. On the other hand, the Khajiit could still profit from the deal by gaining new goods from such exchanges. It had the young Nord caught in a sort of gray area that he didn't expect to find himself in. When he and Astrid finally came across the caravan once again, he realized that one was watching him fairly closely.

He couldn't forget the gleam on the female Khajiit's green eyes. Her crimson-brown hair cloaked the sides of her head, making it seem like her head was bathed with blood from afar. Clad with iron armor, the woman stood alongside several other merchants. She sported an incredibly odd dagger at her side with an iron sword in the other. The curved nature of the dark dagger made the young Nord curious. He wished that one was for sale. The dagger had a curved hilt towards the bottom, and the hand-guard it had acted like the weapon's tooth, possibly catching whatever dagger would even come close to hitting it. Her iron gauntlets could be heard as she cautiously rotated her arms, observing the newcomers very closely. She was one of many other Khajiits acting as guards to the small caravan, but her golden-brown fur made her stick out from the dull, grey and tanned colors the others ones donned. Without speaking, Leigh approached the merchant before him. In front of the gray-furred merchant was an array of weapons. Black lines came across the sides of his face like scars. The irregularly sand-colored eyes made Leigh wary of him; it just didn't appear natural to him. He was not around Khajiit too often and, now that he was, he couldn't help but wince. Still, he wanted some weaponry. The Khajiit welcomed the customer with a content grin. "Dar'u welcomes you. This Khajiit has wares if you have the coin."

Leigh returned with a nod. For a moment, he was distracted by some of the horses nearby. He found it off that this caravan only owned about five of them; two for each wagon, but one of them was on its own. Each one was secured professionally to ensure that such creatures couldn't get spooked. Even so, some of them looked loosely-tied. One of them appeared to be free and wild, yet it also looked to be one of their own. It was a dark-furred one, barely had a mane of its own. It was mostly black in color with a few white spots here and there. The horse, out of all of them, looked the most gentle. It barely moved around or hollered; he just sat patiently and waited for his rider. "… Yes, I wanted to get that dagger you have. Is that a steel one?"

On the table in front of him was a silver dagger. It appeared to be somewhat worn, but it still appeared to be intact. Suddenly, Leigh heard the green-eyed Khajiit guard clear her throat. The timing of it worried him. Before Leigh could question the Khajiit's behavior, Dar'u replied confidently. "Oh yes. Keep your eyes on the incredible craftsmanship. The curved quillon, and such a handle can only be from such a magnificent dagger. For you, my friend, this Khajiit is willing to part with it for only thirty-five coin."

The young Nord could hear Astrid scoff to the Khajiit. "A steel dagger is worth half that at best."

Dar'u tilted his head, toiling with his fingers as he spoke with a curved tongue. "Young lady, this Khajiit fears that you are forgetting something; this steel dagger is not a common find. Or perhaps you would wish your friend to conduct business elsewhere. You certainly have the option to, correct?" The Khajiit wryly licked his upper lip. "Dar'u is _definitely sure_ that you have other places to go."

This Khajiit was something else. Astrid was not falling for this charade. However, with one glance at Leigh, she understood the purpose of it. Leigh reached forward, grasping the weapon in his left hand as he dug into his pockets for the necessary amount of coin. The motive was clear; Leigh was the weaker mind here. He would have given in if it wasn't for the other woman watching. As soon as Leigh took a firm grip of his weapon, the golden-brown furred Khajiit stepped forward, grasping Liam's curled hand. The Nord froze before looking up at the powerful Khajiit. She looked over to the merchant with sour eyes. "To think you could be fair, Dar'u."

The merchant sneered. "Dar'u is confused. This Khajiit is just selling his wares."

"Then I guess I should be the one to tell them that the thing was _just_ sold to us for a few measly coin from another member of this village?"

The customers remained still. Even Astrid found herself entertained by the display. "Oof," she remarked with a grin. "This one is interesting."

Dar'u growled back. "Ma'ri, why you little-"

Ma'ri returned with a low scowl. "I had a feeling something was up. You told me you were going to mend and freshen up that weapon to make it better. But look at it; it's in shambles." Leigh looked at the Iron Dagger in his hand. He removed his right hand from his pocket, soon stroking the blade. As he observed it closer, he began to notice the many impurities that the weapon carried. Ma'ri turned to Leigh with a firm nod. "I have to keep track of weapons exchange. Usually, a steel dagger costs more when good. Someone from the village, though, couldn't fix it up, and to sell it just to get some food." She frowned. "How dreadful..."

Leigh was more shocked at something else than the poor grade of the weapon. Ma'ri, the golden-brown furred Khajiit, appeared to be speaking in a radically different tongue. She spoke fluently in the first person without going into the odd intricacies of the tongue other members of her kind would delve into. His train of thought was broken by the ruffled merchant, who now stood up with a fuming head. The other guards and merchants turned to the scene with worried faces. Dar'u scowled. "You're so certain that Dar'u didn't mend that dagger?"

"Yes, and I'll prove it." Without another word, Ma'ri grasped the wild dagger from her side. She grabbed it by the blade, holding the hilt towards Leigh. The Nord didn't need any other words to understand the importance of such a display. He took the odd dagger from the Khajiit's hand, giving her the steel one. That was when Ma'ri took a few steps away. With a firm grip, she held the dagger in front of her with a defensive position. She held it backhanded, having the blade be centered with her body. "Strike the dagger."

Dar'u shrieked. "M-Ma'ri! Are you mad?!"

"If you're so certain that your decision to sell a poor blade _won't_ be putting me in danger, then admit you didn't repair it." Leigh understood the rules of this little test. He glanced over to Astrid who showed no sign of protest. She was more intrigued than anything. He looked over to Dar'u, watching his face contort with anguish. "Well, Dar'u? Are you going to admit you were wrong, or are you willing to put me in danger by making me defend myself with a faulty weapon?"

"Gah! You're hopeless!" Dar'u roared. "Dar'u told you, this khajiit would not lie!"

Ma'ri nodded. The stage was set. She bent her knees, getting herself in the best defensive position possible. Leigh, with the odd danger in hand, gripped it tightly. He looked into the Khajiit's eyes. What was Ma'ri planning on doing? The Nord could not believe, even for a moment, that the Khajiit would just block the incoming attack. For a moment he flinched; the thought of Ma'ri letting out a counterattack worried him. After coming so far, for him to fail in this little test and possibly die at the hands of a Khajiit was not the way he wanted to go. However, he saw the steadiness in Ma'ri's eyes. He couldn't sense a lie from them. In one quick moment, the Nord unleashed a hard, underhand swing at the defending dagger!

 ** _CL-RACK!_**

Leigh gasped. He could see a rogue blade beginning to fly upward. In that one millisecond, he stared back at his weapon. The blade wasn't from the odd dagger; it remained tough and strong throughout the entire motion. It was then that he stared right in front of him; the rogue blade was that of the ruined dagger. The piece had flung towards Ma'ri. Even so, she didn't even move. Her eyes watched the blade as it rushed by the left side of her face. The blade's naked end sought revenge. It cut into the Khajiit's face. A collected gasp echoed amongst each of the members of the caravan. Dar'u was finished. As the ruined blade continued to take flight, Ma'ri felt the cut on her left cheek. She growled at the sight of the blood. The wound wasn't deep, but it could have gone much worse. It wasn't until she heard the blade come at rest in the soil behind her that her unforgiving eyes took hold of Dar'u. "So, you're letting me get killed, aren't you?!"

Leigh spoke first. "Oh S- I didn't mean that!"

"Dar'u, speak up!" The Khajiit roared. She brushed by Leigh. The confused man stared at the dagger in his grasp as voices boomed behind him. "Your words could have killed this man. How dare you!"

Dar'u roared back. "Don't blame this Khajiit! Dar'u did nothing!"

"Don't try that with me, you scum of the Khajiit!" Ma'ri exclaimed. "That's it, I've had it with you!"

"YOU WHAT?!"

The other Khajiit started to rush over to Ma'ri. However, she simply turned her backs to them. How dare they stand by and accept such filth. She began to direct herself towards one of the wagon's in particular when she glanced back at Leigh. She nodded to him. "Take the Orcish Dagger. I have another. Think of it as an apology on the behalf of these Khajiit." She paid no mind to the others; she simply marched sternly towards the black and white-spotted horse. "Chago, let's go!" The horse appeared to acknowledge the command. It bucked first before waltzing toward his master's side.

The Khajiit started yelling for her. "No! Please, don't leave!"

"You're the best guard the Khajiit have!"

"Dar'u, this is all your fault!"

Leigh couldn't help but squirm from hearing it; because of his previous mindset of the Khajiit, he only saw a bunch of kittens crying for their mother. It was pitiful to see a bunch of adults doing this. He looked at the darkened dagger in his hands, admiring its odd aesthetics. He could see the power of it just with one small glance. It carried a savage nature to the way it was carried. He was ready to pull out his old dagger, hoping to sheath the new one and appreciate this new feat of power.

A roar cracked through the clouds above.

All eyes took to the sky. No one could ignore such a dreadful sound. It was not just a cry, but it was one that shook the very world. A winged beast took flight, soaring through the air with the realm of Skyrim at the beast's bidding. Such being froze the hearts of all who stared from below. The mere sight of it held all of the land dwellers at the mercy of the grand being. The Khajiit's quarrel had ended. With mouths agape, they watched as the beast kept its distance. The azure-scaled entity paid no mind to them. Something else was on its mind. The beast was too high up to notice beings so small. The only things that were close to its level were the mountains in the north. It was home to him. With each beat of his wings, small crystals of frozen moisture took form around him. Even his tail was taken by the ice, coated with the frozen moisture. Everyone watched as the beast's wings continued to beat through the air. That was the only sound the others heard until another roar shook the world.

None of the Khajiit could speak. The horses bucked and attempted to struggle out of their weights and restraints. One broke free. The golden horse charge away from its loose binds and intensely bucked at the air. None of the Khajiit even protested; they all just watched the beast in pure disbelief. Leigh could only watch. His eyes trembled at the sight of such a beast of legend. Astrid looked on, but it was not one of fear. She crossed her arms, glaring at the beast above at it soared to the north. "Such a creature…."

Leigh gasped. "… What… how? What in the name of Shor is that?!"

"For them to return… no no, this isn't good," Astrid muttered to herself. "Leigh, we must go. If one has returned, then there's no telling what else we'll see." She grasped the Nord's arm, pulling him towards the bucking horse. The horse's eye managed to connect with Astrid's. It was like the leader of the Dark Brotherhood commanded all. Her will quelled the rampaging beast as she hastily hoisted herself onto the horse. She yanked Leigh on the open area next to her. Neither one of them assumed that the Khajiit would spend any time protesting against such a theft attempt. Astrid didn't mind any other opinions; she needed to return to the Sanctuary.

One Khajiit moved. She did more than move. She raced for her black horse, pouncing onto its back in an instant. She grabbed it by the reins and stared over at Astrid. The two looked to each other. Both of their horses were in opposite directions. Astrid was to the south. The Khajiit was pointed to the North. The golden-brown Khajiit knew better not to waste any time on them. The beast had gone north, flying quickly towards where the College of Winterhold resided. Without a second thought, Ma'ri flicked the reins. The horse bucked initially before racing to the North. The beast raced with the wind! Ma'ri looked back, watching as Astrid and the young Nord took off on the stolen horse. But Ma'ri didn't care. She understood what all of this meant. She couldn't afford to waste time. Winterhold was a target. She had to reach her precious friend before Skyrim entered the Age of the Dragons.


End file.
